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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618242">And So He Spoke</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves'>Wxlves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:56:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The royal wedding was intended to broker peace between House Havilliard and House Ashryver-Galathynius. By night's end, the stones were soaked in blood.</p><p>[A Red Wedding/Rains of Castamere rewrite]</p><p>[You don't have to have read/seen GoT to read this fic]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And So He Spoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In this fic, Aedion and Aelin are adults, not the children they actually were when the Terrassen Royal family was murdered (probably much closer to their ages in the books)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[And who are you / The proud lord said / That I must bow so low]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors to the great hall shut with the loud scraping of wood on stone and a resounding clang. Aelin forced herself to shake off her unease, chiding herself for being foolish. They were here for a wedding, a celebration; drinks and laughter and music and perhaps, finally, peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhoe Galathynius had refused to bow to that conquering king. Instead of war, they had brokered an agreement: marriage, to unite their houses and spare thousands of lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The King was seated at the head of the table with Dorian, the betrothed Crown Prince, directly to his right. His wife-to-be, a cousin of Aelin’s from her mother’s side, sat across from him with her eyes cast down, politely replying to Dorian’s conversation in a quiet murmur. From the far end of the table Aelin was allowed a perfect view of the guests, both her own family and the Havilliards. Rhoe and Evalin were closest to their hosts, as near to the head of the table as any guest could get: a seat of honor. Halfway down the long table, Aedion was laughing with one of his officers — a lover, Aelin suspected, though she had never dared ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aelin herself, sandwiched between two Havilliard nobles, was finding the conversation severely lacking. The man on her left was angry enough Aelin thought she might have personally offended him if not for the fact that she’d never met him in her life. The man on her left was more morose than vexed, his eyes mournful, filled with grief every time he looked her way. It did nothing to dissuade her apprehension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the less-than-desirable company Aelin soon found herself relaxing, enjoying the feast. Upbeat tunes filtered down from the musician’s loft, the hall filled with chatter and the sounds of cutlery on plates, and laughter and talk spilled from both Havilliard and Ashryver mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only when the first course had been cleared from the table and the second half-gone before Aelin’s disquiet returned. The musicians’ music had slowed to a forlorn song she almost recognized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flicked her eyes around the great hall, searching. Nothing looked amiss. Glancing at the man next to her, he dropped his gaze to his hand resting on the table before him and she followed the look, uncomprehending at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she reached for his sleeve. Pulling back the fine cloth of his jacket, a dull flash of silver caught the firelight. Mail armor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would a dinner guest need with armor?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the song… Aelin knew why she recognized it. It was the song of house Havilliard, about a lord who once dared defy them. The lord’s entire house had suffered for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever so slowly, she raised her eyes to the man’s. His expression hadn’t changed, but neither had the sadness in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reacting to her sudden alarm, the torches along the walls flared high, heat and light rippling across the great hall. Aelin’s chair toppled as she stood, ignoring the shouts of alarm from the guests at the fire’s surge. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a trap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she wanted to shout, </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but before she could say so much as a word arrows rained down from the darkness above. The music had stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[But now the rains weep o'er his hall]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In a split second the hall erupted into chaos. A second volley of arrows found their marks and Havilliard men pulled weapons from their sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Women and men alike cried out in pain, too slow to react, too slow to save themselves. At the head of the table the young Ashryver bride was slumped over the table, blood pooling onto dark wood from the gaping slash in her throat. Rhoe and Evalin were nowhere to be seen but Aedion was fighting, roaring his wordless rage as Havilliard blood drenched the flagstones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through it all, the King sat still, smiling as the world went to hell around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bastard. Spineless traitor. Aelin could burn this hall to the ground and leave the King surrounded by rubble and ash were it not for her own people. Instead, she could only reach for a dead man’s sword, swinging it into the first black-clad soldier she found. He died choking on his own blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All too soon they were overpowered. The arrows from above took down twice as many Ashryvers as the foot soldiers in the hall, and the initial surprise hadn’t allowed for any time to recover their weapons or their wits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold steel kissed her neck and a voice hissed in Aelin’s ear, “Might not want to struggle, little miss.” She was dragged towards the king, limp in the soldier’s arms, when she saw her parents. Rhoe’s bloodied body was half thrown-over Evalin’s as though he’d tried to shield her. One final, cold embrace. Her stomach turning, Aelin glanced away. She didn’t have enough in her to feel any real grief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aedion, she thought, was dead too, until he pulled himself up from the ground with herculean effort. He had so many arrows in him she didn’t know how he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>dead… his father’s Fae blood, perhaps. Blood-spattered and weary, his eyes met hers. More brother to her than cousin, and she would have to watch him die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated the tremors that wracked her body, the tears that cut through the grime on her face as she turned to the King.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. Let him go. He’s no noble, only a soldier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course they wouldn’t let him go. Terrassen’s general, the mighty Wolf of the North — he posed as big a threat to Adarlan as Aelin herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Havilliard soldier stabbed him in the back like the coward he was, the barest tip of the blade protruding from Aedion’s stomach before he pulled it out with a vicious yank. Aedion didn’t make a single noise of pain, even as he collapsed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he wasn’t dead, dragging himself over the stones towards the prone body of his officer, his lover. The Havilliard men seemed disinclined to either help him or kill him, watching with detached amusement as the General reached a hand towards his lover. He finally fell still with his fingertips a hairsbreadth from the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aelin still felt nothing, hollow as a long-dead oak, when she turned to the King. “You will pay for this. The North remembers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t doubt they will remember this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all she had time to hear in reply before the knife bit into her neck. In seconds the pain was gone, replaced by darkness that crept into her vision as her legs gave out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[And not a soul to hear]</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Idk what this is. I listened to The Rains of Castamere, had an idea, and just went with it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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